


Imagine: Your brother loses his cool when he overhears Castiel giving you a lesson on how best to handle an angel’s blade (ft. Dean Winchester putting the “ass” in assumption.)

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [63]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Blades (Supernatural), F/M, Overprotective Dean Winchester, Sexual Humor, Suggestive Themes, Winchester Sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/You
Series: Castiel Imagines [63]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/916281
Comments: 5
Kudos: 78





	Imagine: Your brother loses his cool when he overhears Castiel giving you a lesson on how best to handle an angel’s blade (ft. Dean Winchester putting the “ass” in assumption.)

“You sure you want to do this _now_? In the middle of the library? I mean it’s not the most practical setting to whip it out-” the anxious pitch of your voice threads the threshold of the bunker’s library door, needles through the map room into the hall, and pricks Dean’s ears to alertness as he shuffles between the kitchen and his bedroom with a half-eaten sandwich shoved in his pie hole for purposes of transport on account of a beer held in each available fist- “we might break something.”

Over-protective brotherly spidey-senses forever tingling in regards to you, ignited by the hesitation laden in your words and his uncertainty of what they refer to, the elder Winchester stops up short to listen closely for who you’re speaking to and about what exactly.

“You doubt your ability.” Castiel’s gravelly observation informs as to the _who_.

“I just haven’t had a lot of practice,” you reply in an abashedly lowered tone.

“Here-” Cas continues, cadence exuding confidence in whatever he’s offering- “don’t be afraid. I’ve sensed your longing to try this for awhile. It’s not as though you haven’t thought about touching it many times before today. Go on.” 

Your awe-struck hum of, “It’s harder that I thought it would be,” sets Dean’s muscles frenetically, and clumsily, into motion. Briefly he forgets the bready stopper stuffed in his mouth and tries to shout through the ire-muffling amalgam of carbs.

“Keep your grip gentle, but firm. Focus on squeezing around the base when the heft of it first hits your hand,” Cas instructs softly.

“S’too big, Cas,” you whine.

“You’re overthinking, relax. Let the shaft glide across the cradle of your palm and gravity will do the rest.”

Fumbling, Dean shifts the necks of each bottle into one hand and rips the ham and cheese filled triple-decker from his clamped teeth.

“Closer?” you wonder.

“Very close,” Cas growls.

“Slippery little devil,” you laugh lightly. “You know, it’s kind of ironic something as simple as this can make a being the size of the Chrysler building come undone.”

Heart rate ascending heavenward, rapid rush of adrenaline wobbling his limbs, Dean trips into the map room.

“There!” Cas rasps in praise. “So good.”

“Like this?” you ask.

“_Yes_, that’s it!” the angel exclaims with orgasmic glee.

Momentum of stumble moving him forward, Dean and his beer spill up the library’s concrete steps and put him within sight of you. “What the hell is going on in here?!” Mayonnaise and bits of hastily chewed bread froth at the corners of his mouth.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas peers up at his friend from where you’ve just proudly flipped and caught his angel blade like a seasoned pro.

“Hey, jerk.” You aim your chin at him in greeting, stabbing at the empty air in lieu of a having an actual enemy within reach.

Dean stares between you, jaw and glinting green gaze widely agape. He can’t reconcile the innocent context of what his eyes are telling him was happening with the hands-on hedonistic mayhem his mind assumed given what he heard.

“I was showing your sister how to balance my angel blade in close combat,” Cas explains. He gestures to the metallic shine of the weapon in question in your lithe clasp. “She’s a very fast learner.”

Nodding slowly, Dean wipes a sleeve across his face and skeptically repeats the angelic explanation, “You were showing my sister how to handle your blade?”

“That’s what he said,” you tease, knowing full well what your brother imagined was going on given how worked up he is.

“Uh huh.” Dean keeps bobbing his head like a dashboard decoration bouncing on a bumpy back road where the driver took a wrong turn. He points his sandwich at Cas and shakes a few menacing crumbs onto the floor. “I’m keeping my eye on you.”

You watch him turn to leave, and shout at his departing spine, “Whatever you say. I’m a grown woman, Dean. I make my own decisions about whose blade I want to handle.” You smile, because frazzled Dean is never not funny, and because for all the sneaking around you and the seraph do do to secret the actual romantic and physical nature of intimacy shared from your brothers _this_ is the thing Dean finds to freak out about. 

You look down at the cool metal held in your hands, twisting the triangular point, you catch Cas’ curiosity crimped brow reflected in the mirrored edge.

“I don’t understand,” he contemplates aloud, “what did he think was happening?”

With Dean long gone to nurse his wounded ego and the coast clear of Sam, you decide - setting the blade aside on the table, clasping Cas by the coat lapels, pushing him backward to sit in a chair, and notching your body between his knees and a finger behind his belt buckle - that it’s a query best served by a tactile answer.


End file.
